Having thoughts about CarlAnton… these are currently wips I neeeed to finish but wanted to share😫🙏
In this au, I thought that Anton would have Carla cut her hair in an effort to make her less recognizable. Though I doubt she has anyone left in her life that would look for her after she’s abducted 😔
[Creator note: This may not be long, depends on how I feel. It also probably ain’t gone’ be too serious either, I kind of want to be a bit silly. Still playin’ around with ideas though. I took some inspiration from @chigurhscemeterygirl.]
"It is West Texas after all, even sinners go to church.
That’s just how it is."
-reader
Part One:
Holdin’ an orange bowling ball, you get a sudden craving.
Could use some nachos right ‘bout now.
Hours on empty roads and endless ponderin’ had you bored out of your mind. So, after gettin’ gas at some Phillips 66, you drove on down to your nearest bowlin’ alley.
Hardly anyone was around, perhaps they were restin’ for church the next morning? It is West Texas after all, even sinners go to church. That’s just how it is.
The alley was occupied mostly by air and the occasional person, and hadn't filled since you got there. It was unusually silent for a Rock-n-Bowl, the only noise being from quiet conversations, pins gettin’ pulverised by balls, and faint country music playin’ from some cheap speaker.
Didn’t bother you though, you’ve been playin’ alone for an hour or so. Your stomach’s the thing that ended up havin’ to pull you away for a break, givin’ you the random cravin’ for nachos.
‘Think I see an attendant at the counter there…
You drop the bowlin’ ball wherever. Ignorin’ the people who glare at you when it hits the floor, you head on over to the concession area.
The scent of floor wax and mop water get choked out by the stench of oil and plastic cheese. One of the only lights—a wide, blinkin’ neon menu—illuminates your path as you approach.
‘Case I don’t already know where the damn food’s at.
You stop in front of a lanky, teenage boy.
“We don’t got cigarettes, we don’t sell ‘em either…” The boy stares at you blankly, blinkin’ like a drunk turtle.
You sigh. “Wasn’t plannin’ on asking for any, son. Y’all still got the nacho machine runnin’?”
The boy rolls his eyes at you. “Sure.” Then he huffs. "Are you gone’ order somethin’, hoss?”
Lord give me strength, give me patience…
“Nachos, extra cheese, hold them jalapenos.” You slide him a five dollar bill, two dollars more than what you owe.
A small smile plays at the kid’s lips before he turns to make you the processed slop you paid for. You don’t even get time to people-watch before he comes out with a steamin’ paper tray.
You immediately grab them and book it to an empty booth before the cheese can harden, you’re not takin’ any chances.
You pick a nacho from the tray, watchin’ the cheese pull apart.
This the best batch of cardboard chips I may have ever seen.
Almost brings me to the lord.
Almost.
As you move to take a bite, a waft of rose fragrance invades your entire olfactory. It’s followed by the sound of someone clearin’ their throat.
“Excuse me?” A sweetly assertive voice attempts to grab your attention.
You drop the nacho and whip your head around. A peach-tinted, young woman stands beside your booth with a smile. A neon yellow Budweiser sign from the concession area highlights her blonde hair and kind eyes.
“Yes, ma’am?”
She holds out three dollars. “My husband and I went to order nachos from concessions. But the boy said that he ain’t got anymore, that he sold the last bunch to you.”
She nods her head to a gruff lookin’ man beside her. His skin’s a tanner peach, hair’s a dark brown, and he's got a goatee. Well, what Texans consider to be a goatee.
He just narrows his eyes at you.
“My husband came from a hard day of weldin’ to celebrate our anniversary here and hasn’t had anythin’ all day. So, I was wonderin’ if I could buy them off you? I gots the money.”
She anxiously smiles at you like a deer tryin’ to buy grass off a bison. It nearly makes you chuckle outloud.
You hand her the nachos. “That’s okay, miss. You don’t got to pay me.”
